


A Shield of Grief

by tolkiennerdy



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2014-02-26
Packaged: 2018-01-13 21:55:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1242031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tolkiennerdy/pseuds/tolkiennerdy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nerdanel recalls the grief she and her family have suffered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Shield of Grief

**Author's Note:**

> This come from a headcanon I had concerning Nerdanel and what she did once she was left behind and her family started to die.

Gentle feet moved across ever-green grass, eyes looking up as the Noldo neared the entrance to Lórien. Before feet could cross between the barrier of hedges into the gardens, a figure appeared, startling the Elven woman momentarily. Silent, foreboding, it was a frown that crossed the Vala's features as he noted the Eldar standing before him, and Irmo waited for words to be spoken. He knew why she had come; she came every night, clinging to hope but holding despair close.

"Lord Irmo..." Clutching at the light cloak wrapped about her body, heavy red hair braided and twisted up, Nerdanel's eyes could not meet the Vala's. His piercing gaze unsettled her, especially when she came upon her errands.

"No." 

"Has Lord Námo?"

"No, Lady Nerdanel. No word, no sign. As it has been every night since he departed and since the last came." He saw the despair flee, even if only momentarily--it would creep back in the wee hours of the morning to eat away at her, to worry her. He wondered when she would join Míriel, to give up finally and allow her soul rest and respite. She was stubborn though, the wife of Fëanor. She had yet to allow herself time to grieve. If and when the grief consumed her, he knew it would consume her wholly. Her spirit would be lost. He knew it would not be to his gardens she would come when she finally gave in; his brother would have her body and spirit when the time came.

Hope washed over the Noldo however, and the Vala only nodded his head in parting, disappearing back into his gardens as Fëanor's wife turned to find her way back to her own home. She moved along a path that had been well trodden by her feet for many years. Even in this ageless time, she had come, curious, desiring to know, a ritual she could not forgo. The Curse hung as a dark cloud in her thoughts, and she spent many restless nights lying awake, wondering...wishing...praying to Eru and knowing nothing would come of it. Pushing the door to her home open, the cloak was shed and placed on the chair by the door before she worked on freeing her hair.

Candle flames flickered, and movement was caught out of the corner of her eye, a shadow shifting on the wall she now gazed at. Fingers still worked on unbraiding her hair at a leisurely pace though, the Elven woman in no rush to face the other in her home. Finally turning, brushing fingers through the heavy hair to separate a few stubborn strands, a deflated Nerdanel came face-to-face with her father, Mahtan. "News?" the blacksmith asked, praying to Eru something had come of this journey, at least this one.

After all, a father's worry could never be diminished. He knew his child suffered at the hand of the Curse, even though she had not taken part or uttered those words, and he knew she waited and wondered every night to hear news of some sort. Watching as she settled down in the chair he had just previously occupied, a subtle shake of the head given, he nodded and turned to the wall she gazed at now with saddened eyes.

Shining in the bright flames of the candles were seven shields settled atop tapestries, forming a circular pattern with one shield taking center place among the six others. Six children she had lost thus far to the wretched Curse her husband had sworn, and even the grief of her estranged husband's passing had been hammered and molded into a shining shield. Her father eyed the workings of each shield, then looked down to his child and her hands: they were the hands of a blacksmith, hardened by the hammer she had wielded in her desperate workings to render something out of the grief she felt at each passing--a grief she chose to ignore at most times for fear it would wholly consume her. He feared that when she finally allowed it to take hold, she would be lost within it. Turning back to his daughter, he knelt before her, grasping her hands in his own, smoothing a thumb over the back of her hand.

"Rest now, little one. Rest your weary heart. One still remains...perhaps they will--"

"No." She cut him off, looking at her father then. Body tense, eyes hardened, jaw set, she shook her head. "No," she said again, firmly. Relaxing after she was certain he understood she wanted no other hope given to her, she leaned down and pressed a kiss to his cheek, then nodded to the door to her bedchambers. "I will rest now, Atar. I promise to come and see Naneth soon." Standing, she watched as her father left, the blacksmith casting one last glance back over his shoulder before disappearing to leave her to her own devices.

Moving to the wall, one finger trailed along the Star of Fëanor expertly crafted upon the center shield. Tears formed in Nerdanel's eyes as she gazed upon the star, the heraldic device of her household, surrounded by flames. "My love." Her voice was soft, full of the grief for her lost partner--lost to the Halls of Mandos by wounds grievously placed upon him during his battle with the balrogs of their enemy.

Her hand moved up to the shield directly above it, naming each in turn, remembering, refusing to let grief win and instead allowing it to fire her anger and will to survive. "My Maitimo--" Upon this shield was a hand clutching a sword, hope that some day he would be whole again. 

"--our Tyelkormo--" Fingers traced over the hound upon the shield, a hound rending a monster of the enemy to pieces, the companion that had been faithful and fell to any that came against it's master.

"--our Carnistir--" A shield whose background was bright red only, a scarlet that shined in the light of the flame, a simple rending of the mother-name she had bequeathed to him.

"--your Atarincë--" Eyes took in a shield depicting the three silmarils, bane of the family, fingers refusing to trace the skilled crafstmanship rending them in metal.

"--our Ambarussas--" Two separate shields were gazed upon then, identical to one another: two trees, crafted from copper, branches and roots short reaching in respect to the short-lived lives.

Six shields, seven sons. Her fingers moved to the empty spot between Maitimo and Tylekormo's shields. "My Makalaurë," she finally whispered, feeling hope well within her chest. One child still remained, wandering, abandoned to his own fate. A fate that she felt every day. The Curse was completed, but it still held him in its sway. He was lost, far from the thought and sight of those who knew. Lost even to a mother's knowledge, but ever present in a mother's anger kindled by grief. Sinking to her knees, arms wrapped about her body, Nerdanel allowed grief to take hold for a moment, and she cried.


End file.
